


The Secret of Christmas

by Delancey654



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 12:26:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12817497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delancey654/pseuds/Delancey654
Summary: A Dramione re-telling of the classic Christmas story about the reformation of Ebenezer Scrooge. Prompt = Christmas carols





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The structure of the story is derived from A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens, while the characters belong to J.K. Rowling. The title of the story is derived from Ella Fitzgerald’s rendition of A Secret of Christmas, which is quoted in chapters 2 and 6. I do not own any of these works, and write for fun rather than for profit. 
> 
> Endless thanks to I_was_BOTWP for beta reading this over Thanksgiving and Black Friday, and to whomever nominated me to write for this round of D/Hr Advent. I am truly honored!

" _Muffliato_!"

Draco Malfoy sighed in relief as white noise replaced the din of the Christmas carolers in Diagon Alley below. He attempted to return to the year-end reports on his desk, but soon was interrupted by a knock at his office door.

"Come in," he called, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice. His assistant had used Christmas Eve as an excuse to leave early, allowing any one of the many blithering idiots he employed at Malfoy Enterprises to disturb him.

"Oh, it's you, Granger. What is it?" he asked with somewhat more civility. As the head potions researcher at his firm, she was anything but a blithering idiot. She was always welcome in his office to discuss business. She was even more welcome in his office bent over his desk with her skirt hiked up and her knickers down at her ankles, not that he had enjoyed her in that position since September.

"I’d like to take the rest of the week off," she announced without preamble.

"Impossible," he said in crisp denial. "I agreed to let you take a half day tomorrow, but those potions can't remain under a Stasis Charm for more than twelve hours."

Her chin lifted in a mulish obstinacy that Draco was well-acquainted with. "I do apologize, but I need to take some time off. Ron was going to take Rose and Hugo with him to Chudley for Boxing Day and the rest of the winter hols, but something came up."

 _Probably the Weasel King's dick, in response to some tart_. But Draco kept that thought to himself. Granger was sensitive about her ex-husband's infidelity, not to mention quick with her wand.

"It's only for a week, while the children are home from Hogwarts," she said persuasively.

Draco sniffed in disapproval. "Scorpius stayed at Hogwarts to study for his O.W.Ls. Maybe he'll actually manage to beat your little ginger swot's marks next term."

"I could manage to come into the lab for a few hours each day," Granger offered, not diverted by the fierce and ongoing academic competition between Rose and Scorpius.

"Not good enough," he shook his head.. "I pay you - quite handsomely, I may add - to work full time."

"But it's Christmas," she protested, as though that were a clincher.

"It's just a Muggle holiday," Draco shrugged. "I’ve traditionally celebrated Yule on the winter solstice."

"Please, Draco," she pleaded.

He leaned back in his desk chair, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Say that again, Hermione. Those words sound so nice coming from your lips. And I haven't heard you beg like that for months now."

Her cheeks flamed at the reminder. "Pardon me, Malfoy," she said stiffly. "I see that appealing to your better instincts was a waste of time."

"Now, now, Granger. It wouldn't be very professional of me to give you time off on such short notice, would it?" he asked, throwing her concerns about their affair back in her face. "And we wouldn't anyone to think there was some sort of inappropriate _quid pro quo_."

"No, that's precisely right," she agreed bitterly. "I wouldn't want you to sully your precious public image." She gave him a sneer that rivaled his own. "Happy Christmas, Malfoy."

She turned on her heel and retreated from his office, too dignified to slam the door behind her, but not troubling herself to close it. For better or worse, the witch knew how to push his buttons.

"Happy Christmas, Granger," he called mockingly after her.


	2. Chapter 2

Hours later, when Christmas Eve had nearly given way to Christmas Day, Draco sat alone in his study at Malfoy Manor, Firewhisky in hand. He had foregone Celestina Warbeck warbling _God Rest Ye, Merry Hippogriffs_ in favor of a vinyl record of American jazz Granger had gifted him with, spinning on an old phonograph. 

_. . . the little gift you send on Christmas Day  
Will not bring back the friend you turned away . . ._

It was going to be a lonely holiday, only his second since Astoria's death, and with Scorpius choosing to stay and sulk at Hogwarts. But at least Draco had his creature comforts. Last year, there had been Granger, and their first kiss under the mistletoe, but that seemed very long ago.

A few glasses in, Draco realized he had the misfortune to be attracted to brown-eyed brunettes. If he held his glass towards the midnight-shaded windows, the dark depths reminded him of Astoria's eyes, too often shining with the pain of the curse that had killed her. But if he raised his glass to the firelight, the liquor shimmered with amber, much like Granger's eyes when she was angered - or passionate. He knocked the Firewhisky back, draining his glass.

He went to pour another, but the bottle was empty. Rather than interrupting the house-elves' Christmas celebrations, or preparations, or whatever they were doing all night in the kitchen, Draco stumbled to the sideboard to see what else was available.

His mother had brought him a bottle of absinthe from Paris, which she now called home. Draco grabbed it with a grunt of approval. The bright green liquor was untainted by association with any failed romance - and yes, he was damn well aware that Potter's eyes were the color of a freshly pickled toad.

He was on his second glass when a draught caused the flames to flicker in the fireplace. Somewhere deep in the Manor, a bell chimed, though, checking his watch, Draco saw it was not yet midnight.

"If you're going to drown yourself, the pond on the grounds would be faster," an acidic voice suggested. "It's not yet frozen over."

"Father?" Draco gaped at the apparition now sitting in the wingback chair opposite his own.

"So your mother always claimed, and I doubt she'd lie about that."

"But . . . you're dead," Draco sputtered.

"As a doornail," Lucius agreed, lifting one manacled wrist to examine his translucent fingernails. "Though I chose to move on, so I'm not a ghost."

"What are you, then?" Draco demanded.

"I am a warning, Draco," Lucius intoned.

"To not mix Firewhisky and absinthe?" Draco snarked, hoping his father was an alcohol-induced hallucination. He set his glass down with a punctuating thump. "Why are you in chains? They don't use them at Azkaban."

Lucius glared at him. "I wear the chains I forged in life. I forged them link by link, yard by yard, through my arrogance, my prejudice, and my deeds in service of the Dark Lord. I molded you in my image, and set you on the same path - but I've come to warn you now, Draco."

"I don't need a lecture about blood traitors and Muggleborns at this hour of the night, Father," Draco bit out.

Lucius shook his head. "My beliefs still bind you, more than you know. But you have a chance to escape my fate. Three beings will visit you tonight. Listen well to their counsel, and perhaps you may break free of your own chains."

Draco blinked at the empty chair across from him and shook his head. "No more absinthe for me," he muttered, before making his shaky way off to bed.


	3. Chapter 3

Two minutes past midnight, Draco woke with a gasp.

"Tardy again, Mister Malfoy," Professor Flitwick tutted. "Come along."

The tiny professor grabbed Draco's hand with his unnaturally long goblin fingers. Before Draco could speak a word, Flitwick Apparated them both to the classroom where he taught Charms.

 _Definitely a dream_ , Draco thought. _Nobody can Apparate into Hogwarts._

"Sit." Flitwick pointed him towards the row of student desks. Shifting on the hard wooden seat, Draco wondered why he could not wake up.

"Do you know what this is, Mister Malfoy?" the professor asked in a lecturing voice. He slapped a plastic ball filled with glittering flakes suspended in clear liquid down on the desk.

"It's a Muggle snow globe," Flitwick answered his own question after Draco gave him a blank look. "Give it a shake."

Gingerly, Draco shook it. To him, it looked like a cheap crystal ball. "I'm not a seer. Don't expect me to see anything."

"This snow globe shows the past, not the future, Mister Malfoy.”

Draco looked at the dark mass in the middle of the snow globe, obscured by the swirling flakes. Like a Pensieve, it drew him in.

He saw a blond boy, a Slytherin by his tie, surrounded by textbooks as he studied.

"He stayed behind for the holidays, all alone, to bring up his marks. He wanted to impress his father," Flitwick murmured.

"Yes," Draco agreed bitterly, seeing his younger self. "Lucius couldn't stand it that I was second to Granger. A Mudblood, he called her."

"As did you," Professor Flitwick reminded him. "Look again."

Draco realized the boy was Scorpius - not a sullen teen, but a frustrated child desperate for his parent's elusive approval. With a sudden sense of shame, he remembered how he had berated his son for finishing behind Rose Weasley.

"I don't need to see this," he snapped.

"Then shake the snow globe," advised Flitwick.

When the swirling flakes resolved to show Professor Dumbledore trembling on the Astronomy Tower, Draco shook the globe again. Then it was Granger, arching off the rug in his family's drawing room. He gave it a harder shake and it shifted to Astoria's funeral.

"She was always frail," Flitwick observed. "But she had a large heart."

"Yes," Draco agreed on both counts, jaw clenched. He had not married Astoria for love, but fondness had transpired over time. He admired her insistence on raising Scorpius to be tolerant, as well as her sly methods of circumventing his parents' attempts to the contrary. Her funeral had been wrenching.

"Why isn't this working?" he hissed, shaking the snow globe with vehemence. "I don't want to relive this!"

"You need to see it," Flitwick insisted.

Inside the snow globe, Scorpius approached him at Astoria's gravesite. The summer she died, he had been only thirteen, with his mother's slight build. That had not stopped him from shoving Draco, hard.

"This is your fault!" Scorpius cried brokenly, tears streaming down his cheeks. "You killed Mum, with your stupid need for a stupid pureblood heir!"

"Scorpius, get a hold of yourself. Your mother knew the risks. If she hadn't wanted a child, you wouldn't be here." Draco had tried to reason with his son, but he winced now at how cold he sounded.

"Then I wish I'd never been born!" Scorpius screamed. "This is your fault and I hate you!"

"Come, Scorpius," he ordered, striding away from wife's grave, unable to bear staying there for another moment. Watching the scene play out, Draco realized he had been so focused on his own grief and maintaining his public facade that he had failed to comfort his heartbroken son.

He sighed in relief as the swirling snowflakes dissipated to show his own office. Nothing too horrid had ever happened there. In fact, during his affair with Granger, some very pleasant things had happened there.

Draco realized the snow globe was showing the interlude after of one of those work-inappropriate interludes. He was relaxed in his chair, enjoying the view as Hermione pulled her brassiere down and buttoned her gaping blouse. It always had been quick and dirty, but so very satisfying, when they fucked in his office.

"Don't forget to cast a contraceptive charm," the miniature Draco in the snow globe reminded.

She rolled her eyes at him but cast the requested charm with perfect competence. "I never forget, Draco."

He smirked as she rolled her skirt down. "Speaking of forgetting, a little bird - or should I say weasel? - told me your birthday was this week."

"I don't want to see this," Draco said, shaking the snow globe. He knew how this scene ended, the last time he had been intimate with Granger, and had no desire to relive it.

"You control the magic, not I," shrugged the half-goblin teacher. "It must be something you need yourself to see.”

Inside the snow globe, Hermione was opening his present. “This is too much,” she said flatly, looking at the diamond bracelet with a ruby clasp. “Just take me to dinner.”

“Sure,” Draco in the globe replied, confident she would eventually accept his gift. Witches always did. “I know a delightful bistro in wizarding Paris. Or there’s a sushi place in Tokyo where the _omakase_ is literally magical.”

“What about the new restaurant in Diagon Alley?” she asked, a note of challenge in her voice.

A shadow crossed the face of his past self. “I’m afraid not. The board of directors are very traditional. They’ll see stepping out with you as an insult to my wife’s memory.” More importantly, Scorpius would feel betrayed.

“Tori died fourteen months ago,” Hermione said bluntly, a faint pain in her voice. She and Astoria had been friends. “Your year of mourning is over.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Draco in the snow globe dismissed her. His blood-prejudiced directors could go hang, but Scorpius still was greiving the loss of the mother. If he felt Draco had replaced her so soon with Granger, Scorpius would never forgive him.

“What I understand is that you’ve been fucking me in private since last Christmas, but won’t be seen with me in public. Is this about my blood status?” she demanded.

“It’s about tradition,” he lied, with the deceit his parents had inculcated in him. Malfoys hid their troubles from the prying eyes of the world. Draco could not bring himself to admit that his relationship with his son was so strained. “You wanted to be discreet, as well.”

“Discreet, but not your dirty little secret. I respect myself too much to be that.”

He merely looked at her, his face an implacable mask.

Hermione shook her head. “I hope you are happy in the life you’ve chosen, Malfoy,” she called as she left his office, fully dressed and outwardly composed.

“Change it!” Draco snarled, not sure if he was referring to the scene within the snow globe or the end of their relationship. Ever since that day, Granger had treated him with cold professionalism - and he had reciprocated. It was as though they had never been lovers, or even friends.

“I told you this globe shows things that have been. I cannot change it.” Flitwick consulted his pocket watch. “Ah, time for your next appointment, Mister Malfoy.”


	4. Chapter 4

Draco balked when he realized the Charms professor was leading him across the snowy grounds to Hagrid’s cottage. Before he could protest, the half-giant flung open the door and stepped out of cottage, resplendent in crimson dress robes, with a holly wreath in his hair. “Ah, Malfoy,” he boomed. “Yer late.”

Draco reflected that seemed to be the theme of the night.

“Get yer hand on it. We’ve got a party to go ter.” Hagrid held out a pink umbrella.

“Wait! May I see Scorpius? Please?” Draco added, forcing out the last word.

“I suppose. Just for a mo’, though.” Hagrid grabbed Draco by the arm, executing a complicated pirouette while twirling his umbrella.

Just like that, they were standing in a shadowy corner of the Slytherin common room. Scorpius was sprawled on a large sofa close to the fireplace with a very distinctive bottle in his hand.

“He nicked my best Firewhisky!” Draco exclaimed in outrage as Scorpius passed the bottle to one of the two burly boys flanking him. Draco recognized Vince Goyle and Derek Bole. “And he’s sharing it with two Neanderthals who might as well be drinking dragon piss, for all they appreciate fine liquor!”

“Give ‘im a break, Malfoy,” Hagrid counseled. “Scorp’s been havin’ a tough time o’ it.”

Indeed, the boy looked miserable, with dark circles under his eyes.

“Oh, please,” Draco said, annoyed at the implied rebuke. “So I expect good marks. It’s not like Scorpius has been ordered to murder the headmaster.”

“An’ jus’ what was Voldy holding over you, to make you try an’ kill Professor Dumbledore?” Hagrid asked with a penetrating look.

“My mother’s life,” Draco whispered, realizing the worst thing the Dark Lord had threatened him with actually had happened to Scorpius.

“Scorpius! Scorp! I’m so sorry!” Draco cried, reaching towards his son to embrace him.

“He can’t hear yeh, Malfoy. An’ we need to go now,” Hagrid said, reaching for his arm. “Yeh can come back tomorrow.”

As he felt the squeeze of Side-Along Apparation, Draco reminded himself this was a dream. No one could Apparate from Hogwarts.

They landed with a metallic crash, upsetting several rubbish bins in an alley. From the ambient noise of the city around them, Draco assumed they were in London.

“Whoops,” said Hagrid, stepping off a bin he had flattened into a metal pancake. “C’mon, Malfoy.” He dragged him around to a grubby little park across from a row of equally seedy Muggle townhouses.

“Who lives here?” Draco asked, distaste clear in his voice.

“The Potters,” Hagrid answered.

“I might have known,” Draco sneered out of habit. As an adult, he found Potter tolerable, and actually liked his sassy wife. Ginny even had invited Draco to attend both of her holiday soirées. He had declined, knowing Granger would be there. Their chilly interactions at the office were bad enough.

“ _Revelio_!” With a flourish of Hagrid’s umbrella, another townhouse appeared in the middle of the row, its windows glowing with a festive light in the winter darkness. Draco’s eyes scanned the partygoers, searching for Granger. He found her in the kitchen, helping Ginny.

Settled on a bench, Hagrid rummaged in the pockets of his robes, producing an impressive collection that included a flask and a half-eaten fruitcake. Finally, he pulled out an Extendable Ear. “Now we can hear ‘em,” he crowed in triumph.

Draco’s curiosity overcame any scruples when he realized Hermione and Ginny were speaking about him.

“The wanker refused to give me any time off over the holidays, if you can believe that,” Granger grumbled.

“Oh, I can believe it,” Ginny commiserated. “I think Malfoy would keep you chained to your desk if he could. Or do I mean tied to your chair?”

“That was only once!” Hermione replied, cheeks flaming.

“You know you loved it,” Ginny grinned.

Draco smirked at the recollection. She _had_ loved it.

“It’s not as though I’m the only person at the company who can be trusted with experimental potions,” Hermione continued her rant. “There are plenty of qualified witches and wizards on staff. Malfoy could even go into the office. His son isn’t home for the holidays.”

Draco winced at that reminder.

“Oh, I suspect Malfoy will be there. Just the two of you,” Ginny said slyly.

Draco raised an eyebrow at the redhead’s excellent notion.

“I’m not going to make that mistake again, Gin,” Hermione vowed. “I deserve better than to be someone’s dirty secret.”

“You do,” Ginny agreed, thrusting a laden tray into her friend’s hands. “Here, take these. That lot will be howling for food.”

Outside the kitchen, Hermione was accosted by a bashful wizard in a bow tie. “Er, Hermione, there’s a n-new exhibit at the British Museum, on m-magic in the ancient world,” he stammered. “W-would you like to go with me?”

“Who’s that?” Draco turned to Hagrid.

“Anthony Goldstein. Yer year, in Ravenclaw. He’s an Unspeakable now,” the half-giant responded, placidly munching on fruitcake. “Wanna bite?” He offered a piece to Draco, who shook his head, repulsed by the dessert and Goldstein’s pathetic approach.

“Sure, Anthony. I’ll Owl you to set something up after the holidays?” Hermione smiled at him.

Draco felt something in his chest twist as Goldstein adjusted his bow tie with a little more confidence and relieved her of the tray as they went back to the party.

“Tha’s sweet,” Hagrid opined, misty-eyed. “Hermione deserves a wizard who’ll put her firs’.”

“Goldstein won’t,” Draco snapped. “He’s an Unspeakable, and so wedded to his work.”

“‘Mione’ll want to hear why yer right fer ‘er, not why Goldstein’s wrong.” Hagrid heaved himself off the bench and readjusted the wreath in his wiry hair. “C’mon. Yeh tell her that once we’re inside.”

“I’m not dressed for it,” Draco objected, grasping for an excuse. His paisley silk pajamas could be Transfigured readily enough. “And I don’t wish to attend,” he added, sounding snobbish. He just couldn’t face Hermione, not yet.

Hagrid shrugged. “Yeh don’ have much time left.”

With that warning, the half-giant left. The front door to Grimmauld Place swung shut behind him. Draco remained behind in the barren little park, shivering and all alone.


	5. Chapter 5

Hagrid swiftly integrated himself into the party. Draco could hear him on the Extendable Ear, bellowing some song about a red-nosed reindeer, an intriguing beast he never had introduced in Care of Magical Creatures. Draco thought he could use a reindeer-powered sleigh right about now, since his dreaming self lacked a wand. Without it, he could not Apparate or even call the Knight Bus to get home to his own bed.

Left shivering on the park bench, Draco continued to watch the holiday merriment inside the Potters’ home. He observed Goldstein flirt with Granger in an awkward manner that she seemed to find endearing. Draco found it appalling, but he could not bring himself to leave the park bench and go inside to the party.

It would be pointless, he knew. He had lost her, through his arrogance and unwillingness to own up to his shortcomings as a father. He had lost Scorpius, too. As Hagrid and Flitwick both had said, he was too late. While Astoria’s funeral had been packed with sincere mourners, Draco knew he was going to die alone and unmourned, consigned to the family crypt by Scorpius with dull relief rather than grief. That was how Draco had felt when his own father died.

The third creature Lucius had warned him about glided towards him. The Dementor drew in a deep, rattling breath, relishing in Draco’s despair.

 _It’s just a nightmare_ , he told himself. _I’ll wake up soon_. But as he sat on the bench, defenseless and frozen in terror as the Dementor approached, Draco was increasingly convinced he would never wake up. He would be found dead - or worse, Kissed - in his bed on Christmas morning.

The creature loomed over him, its hooded robe billowing with a gust of wintry wind. Draco’s teeth chattered with cold and fear as the Dementor reached out with a skeletal hand and tilted his chin upwards. His worst memories - those Flitwick had shown him, plus the atrocities he had stood witness to as a reluctant Death Eater - played through his mind in a rapid, incessant loop. In futile desperation, he jerked his head away as the Dementor leaned in. “No, please! I’ll do anything! Please, give me one more chance!”

“You deserve to be happy, Draco!” It was a woman’s voice, a melding of Granger’s bossy alto and Astoria’s breathy soprano. “ _Expecto Patronum_!”

A brilliant light shot from the front step of the Potters’ home. The Dementor shrieked and released Draco, knocking his head back against the park bench before fleeing.

“Ow!” Draco’s eyes shot open. He was in his own bed, morning sunlight streaming through the open curtains, the covers tangled at his feet. “Thank Merlin. It was only a dream,” he muttered, rubbing the knot on his scalp that he must have acquired by knocking against the headboard during his vivid nightmare.

He sprang from the bed and grabbed his discarded work robes from the day before, hastily donning them as the last words from his dream echoed in his mind. Draco had been given one last chance at happiness, and he intended to make the most of it.


	6. Chapter 6

As he knocked on Granger’s front door, Draco realized it was seven in the morning, too early for any civilized visit. Still, he could not shake the feeling that it was imperative to not waste any more precious time.

“Mister Malfoy? What are you doing here?” inquired Rose Weasley as she opened the front door.

“I need to speak with your mother.”

“She’s in the kitchen. I’ll go fetch her, shall I?” Rose said, polite but wary.

“Please, may I come in?” Draco asked.

“Okay,” she conceded, leading him through the well-appointed Muggle house. “Is everything alright with Scorpius?”

Draco was surprised by the concern in her voice. Only yesterday, he would have told her to mind her own business, but now he replied neutrally. “I didn’t know you were friends.”

“Of course we are! My mark in Potions wouldn’t be nearly so high if we didn’t study together.”

Draco eyed her with speculation. Rose had just named his son’s strongest subject, the only one where he occasionally beat her. “Just what does Scorpius get from this arrangement?”

She gave him an odd look. “We’re friends. We study for all our classes together. I help him with Transfiguration.”

“Interesting,” Draco mused. That sort of inter-house cooperation had been unheard of when he was at Hogwarts. “Why do think Scorpius may not be ‘alright’?”

Rose was her mother’s daughter. She gulped, but then forged ahead. “He’s under a lot of pressure, he’s all alone for the holidays, and he misses - “

“His mother?” Draco interrupted. “I know.”

“No, he misses how you were before he went to Hogwarts,” Rose corrected.

He responded to her evident sincerity with a crooked smile. “I miss that, too. I’m going to Hogwarts as soon as I leave here. I hope to persuade Scorpius to come home, or at least have lunch with me in Hogsmeade.” Depending on how this visit went, he also was going to tell Scorpius, firsthand, that he was seeing Hermione Granger.

“I really think he’ll like that,” Rose encouraged him as they reached the warm kitchen, smelling of cinnamon from baking. Draco hoped she was correct.

“Hey, Mum. Mister Malfoy’s here.”

Granger was still wearing pajamas, her hair caught up in a messy ponytail as she removed a tray of scones from the oven. Draco thought she looked lovely.

“I truly hope you aren’t here about work on Christmas morning,” Hermione warned him, stripping off her oven mitts and checking to make sure her wand was within easy reach to hex him.

“No. I mean yes,” Draco floundered. “I wanted to tell you to take the rest of the week off. It’s Christmas, after all.”

“What about the potions?” she asked, eying him in disbelief. “Someone needs to mind them.”

“I can head into the office. It’s no trouble, with Scorpius at Hogwarts.”

“Thank you, Malfoy. I appreciate that,” Hermione accepted, as Rose began to whisper in her ear. “What if Scorpius comes home for the rest of the holidays, though?” she asked.

Draco snorted, not unkindly, at the lack of subtlety on display. “He’s old enough to not need a minder.”

“Hey, we don’t need a minder, either,” interjected Hermione’s gangly son, as he arrived in the kitchen and made a direct line for the refrigerator. “Mum, where’s the milk?”

“On the counter, Hugo,” she directed, before turning her attention back to Draco. “If Scorpius comes home, I’ll go in for the morning and you can cover the afternoons.”

“Deal,” Draco agreed. “I’ll send you an owl once he decides.”

Rose started up with another bout of whispering. Hermione rolled her eyes but gave Draco a smile. “Are you free for Christmas dinner, Malfoy? We’d love to have you.”

“And Scorpius, too,” Rose chimed in.

“I’d love to. What’s on the menu? I can bring some wine,” Draco offered. The Malfoy elves would be thrilled to whip up a dessert, but he knew how Hermione felt about elf labor.

“Mum makes a smashing dinner! Roast beef and potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, pigs in blankets, some veg . . .” Hugo listed with enthusiasm.

“That’s enough, greedy guts,” Rose cut him off. “A bottle of red would be lovely, Mister Malfoy.”

He exchanged a grin with her mother at her forwardness. “A bottle of red it is, then.”

After an awkward moment, Draco decided to reciprocate with an invitation of his own, calculating that Granger was less likely to shoot him down in front of her children. He might be trying to turn over a new leaf, but he still was a risk-averse Slytherin.

“Would you care to attend the Ministry’s New Year’s Eve gala with me?” It was only _the_ most prominent social event of the year, a blatant way to proclaim he was proud to have Hermione Granger at his side.

She chewed her lip. “Ginny and Harry have a party that night.”

“Oh, Mum! You can see them any old time!” Rose interjected.

“Perhaps we could make an appearance at the Ministry and then go to the Potters?” Draco suggested. “Ginny invited me, too. She’s a very sympathetic confidante,” he added mischievously. If his dream was accurate, Granger had supplied the redhead with many racy details.

As expected, Hermione flushed. “She’s meddlesome.”

“But well-intentioned,” Draco shrugged. “So, will you come to the gala with me? Please?”

“I would be honored.”

“Brilliant!” Draco grinned. He hoped she would wear a dress that coordinated with the bracelet gathering dust in his bedroom drawer. “I’m off to Hogwarts now, but I’ll see you tonight.”

“Happy Christmas, Draco.” Unlike in his office, this time her voice was warm and held the promise of good things to come.

lt had only been one morning so far, but Draco was determined to be a better man going forward. The words of one of Granger’s favorite Christmas carols came to mind:

_So may I suggest the secret of Christmas?_   
_It's not the things you do at Christmas time  
But the Christmas things you do all year through . . . ._

“Happy Christmas to you, too, Hermione.”


End file.
